


Little Wolf Lost

by solasharel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Arlathan, Arlathan AU, Death References, Other, Sadness, omg what have i done, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solasharel/pseuds/solasharel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Arlathan, Fen'Harel is forced to watch a traumatic scene at his temple, and confronts Mythal about the events afterward.  It is then that he is presented his orb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Little Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to a fic I posted a month ago, this time with some background on Fen'harel's child. She becomes a prominent character in my AU, and deserves a little more page space.  
> I'm sorry for all the angst.

Fen’Harel scrambled around the pillar, desperate to keep the small girl in his sights.

“Cerys, if you don’t get back here _this instant_ -” he bellowed, his baritone echoing about the domed crystal ceiling of his temple, hoping that someone more important than a mere servant hadn’t heard his cries.  The girl’s giggling followed his remark, and the sound of a vase hitting the floor alerted him to her movements.

The private quarters.  He had her cornered.  He stalked around the doorway, silent as the wolf, eyes scanning the various objects she could be hiding behind.  Her little desk was littered in half-finished drawings of trees, partly painted by himself.  Beyond that there was a small trunk filled with dolls and various leaves and flowers she’d found in the gardens, now dried up and dusty.  Along one side was her bed, unmade as always, painted with meadows and poppy flowers.  The walls were daubed in colour as well, thick forests hiding little white wolves coursing between them.  In the corner was her closet, the door ajar.   

He stepped cautiously into the room, leaving the doorway behind him, listening for any sound of his daughter.  She had certainly inherited his cunning, he mused.  

“RAWWWRR!”  She jumped out from the closet and swung on his arm, clamboring around his waist, teeth gnashing in a mock biting gesture through his robes.  He wrestled her into his grip, throwing her on to the bed and leaning over her, hands poised to tickle her pudgy belly.  Deep blonde curls were thrown in every direction and she screamed and giggled as her father took his revenge.  

“You are a wicked little girl, Cerys!   _Ma da’harellan! Fen’len!_ ”  He chuckled as she squirmed, totally enthralled by her sweet smile and crystal grey eyes.

“ _Papae! Papae, ir abelas!_ " She slowed her struggling, her giggles slowing with the receding humour of the moment.

“What have I told you about leaving the temple, Cerys?  What the grown-ups will do if they find you?   _Ar’eth ir'sahlinan, da’len._ ”  He released her, letting her sit up on the bed.  She touched the wolves on the wall fondly.  

“I won’t do it again, I promise,” Cerys agreed, “Will you paint me, _papae_?  I want to run with wolves, _emma Fen’ashalen_!”  She pawed at a blank spot on the wall and looked up at him, eyes clear like ice, unafraid of the elf so many others dared not speak of.  He sighed and smiled softly, unable to remain angry at his precious child, getting up to gather the coloured pastes from her table.  

“Now, _da’vhenan_ , how shall we paint you?  With your little red dress?” He settled back onto the bed, rolling up his sleeves.

“Yes! YES!” Cerys giggled, her smile wide as she watched Fen’harel take the red paste into his fingers and begin sketching onto the plaster wall, “My favourite dress, _papae_!  With the hood!”

“Very well, _emm’asha_ , the red dress it is,” he turned to look at her eager expression, awed by the perfect pictures forming on the wall, and poked little red dots on her cheeks.  She squealed, falling backwards on the bed.

Cerys watched in silence as Fen’harel painted, his fingers swiping from side to side to form first her dress, then the mane of golden hair she had refused to style, preferring her natural curls to the thick locks of her father.  He painted her little button nose, and her glassy eyes, popping against her rosy cheeks.  Lastly, he added a little jawbone around her the neck.  

“What’s that?” she asked.

“The jaw of a wolf,” he answered, “so that you may always be protected, _uth dareth_.”

“ _Papae_ that’s silly, _ma'ar tu dar!_ ” Cerys crawled into her father’s lap, cuddling her little arms around his waist.  She gasped in wonder as he pulled the same wolf jaw from his pocket, hanging it around her neck.

“Only if you stay inside, _ma da’len_ , do you understand?  You cannot leave like that again, or they will hunt you down,” Fen’harel stroked her hair with a clean hand, tucking it behind one tiny pointed ear.  She was perfect, truly, wild and free as all elves should be.  He would burn cities for her if she was hurt.  He’d destroy the gods themselves, if need be.  

There was a cough from the doorway.

“Master, you have a visitor.  Mythal is in the main temple, she says it is urgent.”

“ _Ma serannas_ , I will be out momentarily.  See that Cerys is cleaned up for bed, would you?”  He lifted the little girl out of his lap and set her on her feet.

“Must you go, _papae_?” she whined, her eyes sleepy at the corner.  She could not hide her tiredness.

“I will return soon for bed, but you need a bath first.  Go, follow him and I’ll read you to sleep after,”  he patted her hair and planted a kiss on her forehead, “ _ma'ar lath_ , Cerys.  I’ll be back soon.”

“ _Ma'ar lath, papae_ ,” she whispered, before following the servant out of the room.  

Fen’harel found Mythal in the main temple as instructed, tapping a heel against the marbled floor impatiently.  

“We have much to discuss, Fen’harel, and little time,” she called out to him, watching him stride across the empty hall.  

“If you insist, Mythal.  I hope you won’t keep me long, I have business to attend to,” he replied.

“Abelas reported seeing you chasing a child around the gardens this afternoon.  Is that a common occurrence for you?”  She paced back and forth, arms crossed.  She was agitated.  

“A child?  Abelas must be seeing things, I rarely see children in my temple-”

“You do yourself no credit by lying, Fen’harel!  You may mask yourself well from the other Gods but you cannot keep this from me.  Is she still in the building?”

Fen’harel paused for a moment, then thought better of continuing the ruse further.  Mythal was one of a few who could be trusted.  He needed her on his side.

“Yes, she is,” he confessed, “although I don’t see how this warrants you coming to my temple in the late afternoon.”

Mythal’s fingers drummed against her elbow, nails digging into golden flesh.  

“She must be removed, swiftly.  I am not the only one who knows, old friend, and what do you suppose Elgar’nan will do when he comes looking for your daughter?”

Fen’harel’s heart skipped a few beats.  Elgar’nan couldn’t possibly know, surely?  He remembered the fates of Andruil and Ghilan’nain, how badly he had reacted to the Huntress romancing a mortal elf - a former slave, no less, but the news of a God fathering a child with a mortal?  He dared not think of the consequences.  He did not want to imagine that fate for Cerys.

“Will she be safe with you?” He asked, his voice cracking.

“I will see that she is kept out of sight.  Elgar’nan will never know of her,” Mythal answered, placating her old friend.  

“Then do what you must,” he whispered, looking away.  I am so sorry, Cerys, I am so, so sorry.

A moment later the doors beside them were flung apart, Cerys running at breakneck speed toward him.  Mythal’s guards were hot on her heels, the four of them charging into the hall behind her.  She hit Fen’harel’s legs with full force, almost bowling him over, and he scooped her up, holding her tightly.

“You must go with them, _da’len_ , Mythal will take care of you,” he tried to reassure her, smoothing back her half-wet hair.

“No, _papae_!  I want to stay! _Emm’eth sahlinan_ ,” she cried pulling the wolf’s jaw from her neck and throwing it to the ground.  She sobbed into his shoulder, little fingers weaving through his fur cloak.  

“We must go now, Mythal, Elgar’nan is coming,” one of the guards warned.  A second pulled Cerys from Fen’harel’s arms, dragging her back to the ground as she fought with him.  Her heels kicked against the ground, but she held no strength against Mythal’s sentinels.  He could only watch as she was pulled around the corner, blonde hair bouncing around her shocked little face.

“ _Papae! PAPAE!_ ” she screamed as she faded from sight, her shrill voice ringing through the crystal pillars for what seemed an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Translations:
> 
> Ma da’harellan - You little trickster  
> Fen’len - wolf child  
> Ar’eth ir'sahlinan, da’len - You are safer here, child  
> emma Fen’ashalen - I am the wolf girl  
> uth dareth - always safe  
> ma'ar tu dar - you make me safe  
> emm'eth sahlinan - I am safe here


	2. The Little Wolf Lost

“Papae! PAPAE!”

The screams could be heard throughout the temple, cavernous and cold. He tried to look away, to steel himself and force the pain deep down where his heart wouldn’t seek it. The small child - his daughter, feet muddied and browned by the dry earth - dragged backwards through the front gates by sentinels.

“You have done the right thing, Fen’Harel,” came the voice at his side. She stood taller than him in that moment, his own body upright only by chance. Her eyes looked out at the scene before them, her tongue clucking against the roof of her mouth, and then she was gone, her cape swishing on the marble stone beneath them. Several hours passed. There was nothing but the deafening silence of the night, and himself. If he could summon the will to cry he would have done so, but the tears were far past flowing.  He picked the jawbone up from the floor and cradled it, moaning into the emptiness of his temple.

When he finally moved it was not to his own quarters but to hers, vibrant with colours splashed over the walls, fire casting playful flickers over the pictures of thick woodlands and wolves. This had been a safe space once. Now it lay ransacked and empty. When morning broke, he found himself in her small bed, one hand pressed against the painted image of her face.  
For days he heard nothing. No news, no whispers between the servants he kept. Of course they weren't really servants, but calling them so numbed the anger and regret he felt balling in his chest. Then, like the blackest tide, her name came creeping in hushed whispers. The women gasped when they saw his figure in the market square, scared eyes widened at his approach, lips ceasing their frantic messages. He took one by the arm, did not bother with a name - she would not have had one except for the blood writing on her face, _Mythal_ \- and pinched her jaw in his hand until she faced him.

“Tell me what you know,” he hissed, the rage and grief almost too much to bear when he looked at her, her eyes so clear and crystal blue, just like his child’s. But the woman could only stare and sob, the fear of her master’s retribution far greater than anything Fen'harel could muster. Instead he was forced to coerce the memories from her, pressing a thumb to her forehead and drawing them slowly, _painfully_ , into the humid air between them. Her master would hear of this, he knew, but in this moment he had to see it for himself. In the next he wished he hadn’t. He threw the woman back into the crowd, a distraught howl coursing from his lungs, and he headed immediately for the Great Protector’s temple.

“Tell me you didn’t”, he roared, startling several of Mythal’s guards as the doors to her private quarters were thrown apart. Abelas turned first, his golden eyes meeting with the storm-grey of the Dread Wolf’s gaze. Mythal barely acknowledged his presence. She had been expecting him.

“My Lady does not wish to be disturbed, she will see you-”

“I demand answers!  She had no right to do this.  None!  The child was innocent!  I was told that no harm would come to her, but instead I have to drag the truth out from one of your slaves.  Of course, you already knew of it, Mythal, did you not?” Fen’Harel’s nostrils flared as the visions flashed before him once more. Already his mind was blocking out the most traumatic details. All he saw now were the walls of her cell, once brightly plastered with greens and blues, now stained red and brown.

“That girl was an abomination, Fen’Harel. It was only a matter of time before this would happen, you knew this, yet you accuse me of betraying you? Ha, how little you care to know about your kin.” Mythal finally faced him, rising from the throne she draped herself over. Her heels, crystalline in form, tapped with a piercing clarity across the hall. She held out an arm, beckoning him to her, and reluctantly he obeyed. The Wolf inside knew when to lay low.

“She was… she had suffered enough, Mythal. You could have done anything else but that. She never knew what she was.”

“And that was her greatest downfall, old friend. What would she make of it, if she knew the truth? That she was no mere serving girl but a key - your key? How would she react to the knowledge that she would be bound in a way no other slave is to their master? There is a reason we gods do not bear real children, Fen’Harel.”

He could not deny her logic. To mark one’s slaves, to brand their faces, was considered normal. Respectable even. The girl, however, his own flesh and blood - what had been his key - was considered unnatural. What Fen'harel had done was disgrace among the Pantheon, almost as grave as falling in love with one of the People. Andruil had learned her lesson, just as the Dread Wolf would learn his.

“The child would never have matured, Mythal. She would have remained as she was. Her magic would never have come through.  I had potions, enchantments-”

“Her magic? I do believe it is her father’s that runs through her veins. More powerful than any among the People, she nearly destroyed the eluvian when we took her.”

Fen’Harel allowed himself the smallest grin at that thought. His daughter had inherited his rebellious streak. Mythal pulled him from his thoughts when she presented him an orb. It glowed, faintly at first but then surged with energy as he took it into his hands. Searing heat battered him, threatening to break his skin apart, and for a moment he was the little girl, eyes darting wildly as she watched her father leave her field of vision, her mane of hair whipped up by the high winds outside. He could feel her screams, her fear, her frantic grappling for freedom. The last moments they would ever see of each other.  His fingers traced the carvings of the orb, patterned like a finger print.  Somewhere inside lay his most treasured creation, soul bound.

“The orb... Then she is-”

“Your key, Fen’Harel. Just as before. Your magic flowed through her, and as such she cannot be destroyed. As long as you have the orb, you have her soul. Consider this a kinder solution than Elgar’nan had proposed. He had wanted her sent into the Abyss, to let Daern’thal use her as he wished. The bond that she possessed would have killed you too.”

Fen’Harel’s skin prickled at her words, his rage abated only by her calming presence. The power of her magic had been known to stop entire cities falling to violent riots.

 “There had to be another way! You took her and gave her the most brutal of endings! She was a child, Mythal! How could you be so heartless?”  

Mythal reached out to stroke his cheek, soothing the grief within to allow a moment of clarity.

“How do you believe all Gods came by their orbs, Dread Wolf? Sacrifices must be made, and we must all endure them. I am only sorry that your sacrifice came as it did, old friend.” Her hand slipped back to her side and she walked away, leaving the God to look upon the orb, the gentle pulsing of his daughter's spirit, unique in all the world.


End file.
